


not enough

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Oswald needs a hug, POV Outsider, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: Oswald, the fool that he was, had thought that Ed had been The One.He should have known better.(Oswald has a very different reaction to seeing Ed kiss Isabella—for better or for worse.)





	1. Chapter 1

#

Oswald hasn’t ever been in love. He’d been kissed and fucked but had never been courted. He had built up a fantasy in his head about who his perfect man would be—dreamt up in lonely nights of his adolescence. He had wanted someone gentle and sweet, but funny—someone who would take him dancing and to concerts and pull out his chair at dinner. He wanted someone who would stay by his side, who believed that Oswald could be someone, who would bring him flowers just because. 

He had accepted that this man didn’t exist sometime in his late-twenties—after spending years pining after men who would never want him. He had accepted that he was always going to be a freak in most people’s eyes and that was fine. He’d show them what a _freak_ could do, who he could be.

He had forgotten that resolution, foolishly and pathetically, for the short months after he met Jim Gordon—scorning himself for his pathetic pining and wistful fantasies. Jim Gordon might have saved him, but Oswald had learned the hard way that it didn’t mean what Oswald had wanted it to mean. 

He should have learned his lesson. He has had his heart stomped over dozens of times—silly infatuations and crushes that led to embarrassment, shame, and ridicule. 

Until Ed.

Oswald, the fool that he was, had thought that Ed had been the one—the one that Oswald could love and be loved in return. Ed, who was the best friend that Oswald ever had, who had believed that Oswald could win even when he didn’t, who looked at Oswald with stars in his eyes, and who was the most amazing man he had ever met. 

But when he finds out that Ed, his Ed, has fallen in love with a woman he just met...he feels himself fall apart. He doesn’t know why he thought he could have this—thought he could have Ed. He should have known better. 

And he thought he could keep it together, thought he could until he walks in to see Ed kissing her in their home, his arms wrapped up in her and she’s beautiful and perfect for Ed and Oswald just...

Can’t. 

He makes it to his room with every thought to sleep and forget and drift away. But he’s halfway undressed and looking at himself in the mirror before he breaks. 

He strips himself of his suit, digging into his closet for some long forgotten clothing that he kept for emergencies. He shimmies himself into a too-small pair of skinny jeans and threadbare v-neck from at least a decade in the past, when he couldn’t afford suits and made do with whatever he could find at thrift stores. He stands in front of the mirror for a few moments and then pulls out his makeup kit—little used in the last few months except for subtle touch-ups. Tonight, though, he brushes deep purple over his eyelids, drawing attention to his eyes before lining them with sharp, dramatic wings. He finds an old pair of fake lashes and, with a little difficulty from lack of practices, sets them over his natural lashes, blending them in with a few swipes of mascara. 

He contours his face dramatically, making his cheekbones sharp and diminishing the size and shape of his nose. To finish, he finds an old tube of undoubtably expired deep plum lipstick that he painstakingly sweeps over his lips. He purses his lips with an absent look on his face, blotting the excess away on a tissue without a thought—mind numb and body moving on old instincts. 

He tops off his look with a string of layered pewter charms on black silk chords and a few cheap silver rings that still fit. A simple wrap bracelet is strung over his thin wrist, and he pulls out a single earring, long with silver chains and ending with a cross. He struggles with his piercing for a few minutes and winces as he forces the end through the partially healed puncture, but the heavy weight of the jewelry is grounding. 

He stops and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. 

It’s an old but familiar sight—one that was common when he was barely legal and high off the feeling of freedom and sex. Clothes that clung to him like a second skin and dramatic, messy makeup that made him look closer to twenty than thirty. Most importantly, he doesn't look much like Mayor Cobblepot at all. 

He makes Gabe drop him off a block away from a cluster of cheap clubs, full of young bodies that were drunk and high and so far from anything familiar. 

He downs two shots immediately when he walks in, grimacing at the burn of cheap vodka. A stranger—tall, blonde, and perhaps a decade his junior—buys him a third that Oswald shoots back with easy familiarity, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Slow down there, cutie,” the stranger whispers into Oswald’s ear, resting both hands in his hips as he pins him against the bar with the bulk of his body. Oswald doesn’t bother to push him away, just presses closer to him and lets the haze of alcohol start to wash over him. 

“Why?” he says, twisting to look up at the man through his lashes even as he grinds his ass against the man’s crotch, feeling the other man’s obvious interest. 

He hears a deep groan in his ear. “Fuck, baby,” the man says, boldly moving to cup Oswald through his jeans. 

“That’s the idea,” Oswald says, placing his hand over the younger man’s to grind their palms into his hardening cock. “Now, did you want to take me home or should I find someone else to fuck me?”

* * *

They don’t actually make it to his apartment. Instead, Oswald pulls him into the alley behind the club, pushes him to the wall, and drops to his knees as gracefully as he can as he ignores the twinge in his knee. He barely notices the hand in his hair as his fingers are quick to open the man’s belt. Before long, Oswald pushes down the man’s black pants and briefs enough to pull out his half-hard cock. Without ceremony, he swallows it down—the taste of salty skin and the smell of musk clouding his senses. The cock rapidly swells under his ministration, his hands working in tandem with his mouth. It had been a while since he had done this but it was like riding a bicycle—pun very much intended. 

He swirls his tongue around the head, tasting the salty pre-come, tightening the seal between his lips in time with an expert twist of his wrists. The stranger groans and fists his hand in Oswald’s hair harder, jerking his hips forward to chase the sensations. Oswald takes him deeper in response, forcing away his gag reflex with a practiced air and ignoring the watering of his eyes. He spends another minute bobbing his head up and down, alternating between using his tongue and his hands until his partner is hard enough. 

He pulls off and looks up, lips swollen and slick with spit. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

“Fuck,” the stranger says and hauls Oswald up to his feet, pulling him up for a dirty, wet kiss that tastes of vodka and nicotine. Oswald hears him fumble for his wallet and grinds himself up against the man’s thigh as he tries to extract a condom and a small pack of lube around the distractions.

Oswald hurriedly separates himself and works at the button of his own jeans. The stranger helps, and they slide both his jeans and underwear down to his thighs. Oswald spreads his legs and bends over, bracing himself on the wall with one hand as the other moves to slowly stroke himself. 

“Fuck, you are so hot,” he hears from behind him. 

Oswald can’t hide the flinch at the first touch of a cold wet finger against him but recovers quickly, pushing himself impatiently against the touch and arching his back to present himself. He abandons his cock to reach around with his hand to help spread apart one cheek to display his hole to the stranger, taking a few deep breaths to relax. He clenches his eyes closed, trying to focus on the feeling and the touch—to not think of anything except this. 

His partner is quick to prepare him, slipping in one finger to the knuckle while cursing and rubbing his own leaking cock on the swell of Oswald’s ass, dripping trails of pre-come over his skin. Oswald takes two fingers with little difficulty but has to remind himself to keep his breathing even when a third is added. Too soon—or not soon enough, Oswald doesn’t know—he feels the hard press of the other man’s cock against his entrance.

Oswald bites his lip, suppressing a groan and scream at the feeling as he pushes in, slow, but it still hurts. It had been too long for him to take it so quickly, and he had forgotten the pain, the uncomfortable feeling of fullness and the burn of being split open by a cock. He focuses on remembering to breathe as his partner curses and keeps pushing forward, tries to remember the pleasure he knew was waiting. 

He feels the man’s pelvis hit his backside, and they both pause, giving them each a chance to get accustomed to the sensation His partner trails a few kisses down his neck as he reaches around to stroke Oswald back to hardness. 

“Damn, you are so tight, baby,” he says into Oswald’s ear before pulling out a few inches to push back in, voice low and guttural with arousal. Oswald moans, half in pain, clenching down on the intrusion.

The thrusts are slow and shallow at first, careful until he hears Oswald give a deep moan of pleasure at the scrape against his prostate. “Yeah, that’s it, feels good now, right?” he says, breathless.

And it did feel good. Oswald pushes back with each thrust, losing himself in the feeling of a cock in him—the pain-pleasure that he had denied himself and the arousal of how depraved it was to let a stranger fuck him in an alley. His fingers try to get a grip on the brick to brace himself with each thrust, and his moans become louder as the hand around his cock tightens. 

Oswald comes with a scream, biting down on his hand to keep from attracting too much attention while thick strips of come cover both their hands and the wall. His partner doesn’t stop thrusting, his grunts coming more ragged and his pace picking up now that his partner had reached his orgasm. 

The stranger takes one of his come covered hands and brings his fingers up to Oswald’s mouth. “Come on baby, taste it. I bet you want another dick in that pretty little mouth of yours,” he says, dirty and gruff; and Oswald moans at the words and the sore hammering against his oversensitive prostate. He opens his mouth to allow two fingers in, wrapping his tongue and licking his own come off the other man’s hand, smearing some of it over his lips and cheeks. 

Oswald almost bites down when his partner comes with a load, animalistic grunt, hips jerking and Oswald presses closer, eyes still closed and focusing on the hard hand on his hips, hoping that they’ll leave a bruise.

For a moment, there was just the sound of their breathing, ragged and stuttering. Then his partner groans and pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness making Oswald whimper and muscles clench. Oswald rests his head on the wall, letting his heartbeat slow, as he hears the stranger pull off the condom and tuck himself back into his pants, the rattle of a belt and the sound of a zipper following. Oswald wipes his hand off as best he could on the brick before he pulls up his own pants, wiping any excess come off onto his back pocket, uncaring.

By the time he turns around, he has composed himself. His partner was still looking a little dazed but content and was pulling out a cigarette from a half-crumpled pack.

Oswald raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand, demanding. 

The man chuckles, still a little breathless, and offers his own before popping out a second. He lights his with a cheap red lighter before offering the open flame to Oswald. 

Oswald inhales his first lungful of nicotine in years, welcoming the tasteful smoke and acid. It’s a cheap brand and the feeling was harsh on his throat, but he doesn’t care. 

“You really are something else, babe,” the man says with another amazed chuckle and his own drag of smoke as he leans his back against the wall next to Oswald. “I’m Adrian.”

Oswald exhales a cloud of smoke, looking at the man from under his lashes. “I don’t care,” he says, dismissive. 

Adrian laughs. “Don’t be like that, babe.”

Oswald rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall. “Thanks for the smoke.” He raises the cigarette up in cheers even as he turns away from the man. He tries to avoid limping too much, ignoring the protest of his ankle and knee as he does his best to minimize his normal stagger. 

He finishes his cigarette around the corner, not far from the entrance of the club, leaning most of his weight on a street light. He watches the milling crowd with half-lidded eyes as he waits for Gabe. 

He doesn’t say anything when Gabe pulls up a block away with the car. He had bummed another smoke off a stranger and was halfway through it when he slides into the car. He probably makes quite the sight—smelling of booze and smoke, his lipstick and makeup smeared and hair in disarray. 

“Back to the mansion,” he orders, rolling down the window a crack to blow another cloud of smoke into the night air. 

“Sure thing, Boss,” Gabe replies with thinly veiled curiosity. But Gabe knows better than to say anything or to ask questions. That was one of the reasons Oswald likes him. 

Oswald just leans back and shuts his eyes, listening to slow and steady sound of his own heartbeat.

He should have known better than to fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry, but I can't help but love sad and slutty Oswald. <3 That and goth, party boy Oswald? My _jam_.
> 
> As always, please spare a moment to feed a writer with a comment if you enjoyed! This will very, very likely be continued if there is any interest. <3


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t know how he managed to get so lucky tonight. Bran had, somewhat reluctantly, ended up at _Toxic_ after the pregame. A large part of him had wanted to go home, smoke some weed, and then enjoy some alone time after a long week at school. But he had been plied with enough liquor that when the taxi arrived, he had let himself be poured into the vehicle with the rest of the partygoers.

He had ridden the buzz for the first hour, slowing down his drinking since he didn’t want to deal with a hangover the next morning. He and his friends had managed to stake out a long row of benches, shouting over the music as people came and went, swapping from the dance floor or buying rounds of drinks.

Bran spied him when he stumbled to the bar to buy the next round. He wasn’t sure what about him caught his eye. Maybe it was that he was alone, maybe that he was downing each of his shots with such grace, or that he just stood out, all pale skin and dark lipstick was not the standard attire at a popular mainstream club such as _Toxic_.

Or maybe it was that he hadn’t been laid in a month, and his mind couldn’t help but picture how good that neck would look covered in hickeys. So he took a chance.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning close to be heard, resting a very daring hand on his lower back as though to steady him against the crowd.

The set of stunning blue eyes that pinned him in place was breathtaking.

“You may,” the stranger said with an amused little smile, resting his chin on his hand. “Vodka tonic."

Bran managed to wave over the bartender, giving her the long list of drink orders and adding a vodka tonic at the end. “I’m Bran,” he introduced as he waited for his credit card back, leaning on his elbow on the bartop.

“Jay,” the stranger said in turn, leaning closer and not protesting the hand on his back. “You here with friends I take it?" he asked, raising a slim eyebrow at the spread of drinks that were being set before them by the frantic bartender.

“That obvious?” Bran responded with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “How about you?"

“All by myself, I’m afraid,” Jay said with what was _definitely_ a flutter of his lashes as he took a sip of his newly acquired drink, leaving a smudge of dark lipstick behind on the plastic rim.

“Well, then,” Bran said with a daring wink. “I’m glad to be able to keep you company.”

They made the usual chit chat as they flirted, Bran wandering closer until they were practically pressed together and the round of drinks was almost forgotten on the bar.

“There you are, man,” Aaron said, swinging his arm around Bran’s shoulder, his messy mop of blond hair tangled in a mix of sweat and glitter. “We were worried that you got lost.” He flashed a dashing smile at Jay. “But it looks like you just got distracted. Aaron,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake.

Jay offered him a knowing smile as he gripped the offered hand. “Jay. I apologize for monopolizing your friend’s time.” He stirred his drink with the short straw as he spoke, taking a little sip.

“Oh no,” Aaron said, moving to bracket the smaller man between the two of them. “Don’t apologize. I would have chosen your pretty face over his ugly mug too.”

Bran gave him a little shove, but his smile betrayed him. “Hey, now. Who are you calling ugly?”

“The guy who is holding up all of our drinks,” Aaron countered with an answering shove.

Bran rolled his eyes, passing over the waiting plastic cups of drinks, most of them probably watered down now from the melted ice. He turned to Jay, running a hand gently down his back. “Want to join our table?”

Bran and Aaron carried all of the drinks, Jay following them as they made the short trek back to their seats as they weaved through the crowd. Bran took note of the other man’s limp, offering his arm only to be waved away.

The group gave a mocking applause at their arrival before they made a quick round of introduction. Jay settled himself between Aaron and Brando, cradling his refilled drink in his hand as he flirted outrageously with both men in turn.

Brandon didn’t know how he felt about it–he didn’t want to seem possessive and ‘I saw him first’ was juvenile. Jay was splitting his attention equally between the two friends. It didn’t feel like a competition–there was something else, another undercurrent, running between the three of them, a feeling that made the blood in his veins run hot.

“So,” Aaron said, resting one hand on Jay’s knee while Bran kept an arm around Jay’s waist. “You visiting Gotham?”

“What makes you ask?” Jay said, running his fingers along his bicep as he leaned back into Bran’s hold. He drained the last of his drink, setting the empty cup on the sticky table so he could fold his hands in his lap daintily.

“Well," Bran cut in, “I can’t imagine why else a cutie like you would be all alone on a Friday night.”

Jay tilted his head up to look up at him, looking at him from under his lashes. “Maybe I just wanted to make some new friends.”

Bran wasn’t prepared for his boldness, almost jumping when Jay laid a hand in his lap to palm him through his jeans even as he tilted his head up to kiss him. His lips were soft, and he tasted like vodka, the sharp, bitter sting of alcohol. He moaned into his mouth when Jay’s tongue slipped against his, and he was painfully hard by the time they parted.

Jay’s smile was positively devious.

Bran tried to give his friend a look (of apology? Triumph?), but nothing came out as he forgot how to speak, because Jay had pulled Aaron down into a kiss as well—Aaron who had fewer compunctions against public affection. Their kiss went on much longer, with hands slipping between clothes, and both were breathless when they parted.

Jay gave them an expectant look. “So, are you two going to take me home, or should I find myself another pair of handsome men to keep me entertained tonight?"

* * *

Aaron’s place was closer, but Bran didn’t have a roommate. They shared a quick look, both of them thinking the same thing because Bran flipped open his phone to call them a taxi. 

But watching the two of them making out nearby, Bran wished he had made the other man call the taxi. He didn’t quite know where this night was going, and while he and Aaron were good friends, this was uncharted territory for him and likely for Aaron as well.

It seemed like hours before the taxi rolled up outside of the club, and Bran opened the back door for Jay before stepping around to climb in the other door. Aaron looked torn for a moment, torn between wanting to join them in the backseat or taking the front. With a dramatic sigh of longing, he gave in and climbed into the front seat.

Bran gave the address to the taxi driver, knowing that the short ride back to his apartment would seem like ages in this scenario. And he was right.

Jay, who he should have known by now, was a devious little shit and spent most of the drive practically giving him a handjob in the backseat of a taxi. Brad had bitten his lip, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to get kicked out of the cab or be reported. The last thing he needed was for this to get around to his father.

But part of him was so hard that he didn’t care and wanted to pin the smaller man down and ravish him right there.

By the time they made it to his apartment, he practically sprung out the door, trying not to make his obvious hard-on noticeable as he counted out the right amount of cash.

The way up to his apartment was a mess of hands and tongues and kisses. Aaron was alternating between touching and kissing Jay until Bran finally managed to unlock his apartment door, flipping on the entryway lights by habit. He kicked off his shoes quickly, and he managed to make it a few steps inside before the door shut behind him.

Jay pressed him up against the wall, shockingly strong given his stature, and pulled him into a long, wet kiss, rolling his body up against him so Bran could feel his obvious erection pressing against his thigh.

He could hear a moan, but he was too busy to pay attention to anyone other than the willing, eager body in his arms. He reached around to grab Jay by the ass, kneading the two mounds in his hands over his jeans.

Jay dropped to his knees in a fluid movement. Aaron had noticed the limp more prominently as they had made their way up the two flights of stairs, but the smaller man didn’t seem bothered by it now.

The back of his head hit his wall as he moaned, trying to steady himself. He met Aaron's eyes, and it should have been awkward, but he was honestly too turned on to care. He looked back down just in time to see Jay pull him out, his jeans and briefs slid down to his thighs to expose his hard cock, a bead of pre-come leaking from the top slit.

Jay gave the head a kiss, swirling his tongue to taste the pre-come before he wrapped a hand around the base to steady it. He gave him one long stroke while one hand dipped around to fondle his balls, rolling them against his fingers.

Jay met his eyes from his position on his knees, and the mischievous smile was all the warning Bran got before he took the head of his cock into his mouth, and _fuck_ did that felt good. Jay’s mouth was hot and wet, and he knew exactly how to use his tongue to drive a man crazy.

Bran watched as he bobbed his head up and down, taking in his cock inch by inch. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Jay pulled away, dropping a wet kiss at the tip before he looked back at their spectator who Bran had almost forgotten about. “Are you going to stand there and just watch?” he asked, the challenge evident in his tone. “Or did you want to join in?”

Aaron wasted no time taking the few steps closer, hands already undoing his own jeans as Jay languidly stroked Bran’s cock, offering little licks along the shaft as he waited.

Aaron finally pulled himself out, and Jay eagerly took the head into his mouth, lips working while his hand kept stroking Bran. Aaron gave a low moan and cursed, and Bran was glad that he wasn't the only one having a problem.

One of Bran’s hands found its way twist into Jay's soft black hair, tugging, begging for his attention. Jay obliged, pulling back to wrap his lips around Bran instead. The next few minutes were spent with Jay splitting his attention between the two of them, alternating using his hands and mouth.

Bran and Aaron had slowly shifted closer until their bare hips were touching so Jay could grab each of them in one hand and rub the head of their cocks together. He mouthed at both of their shafts, eyes watching them and, seriously, _Jesus fuck_.

When he pulled away this time, his lips wet and pink and _ruined_. “So, which one of you is going to fuck me first?”

The three of them stumbled to the single bedroom, all of them shedding layers in the short journey over. Aaron practically shoved Jay onto the bed and crawled over him, already intent on stealing a kiss, while Bran gave a quick prayer of thanks that he had just cleaned his room.

Bran watched as Aaron separated his mouth from Jay’s, choosing instead to kiss a trail down his stomach before stopping before his cock, which was lean and thin and probably would feel amazing in his mouth.

Jay threw his head back and moaned at the first touch, wrapping one leg around Aaron’s neck to pull him closer and grabbing his hair, pulling and pushing.

Bran dragged his eyes away, taking the opportunity to rummage through his drawers to pull out a strip of condoms and a half-empty bottle of lube. He tossed them onto the bed before shuffling over, leaning down to nip playfully at Jay’s neck as the man writhed under Aaron’s ministrations.

He got a hand on his cock as a reward, and Bran tried to distract himself from coming too early by biting a prominent mark into the man’s shoulder.

Aaron suddenly sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grabbed one of the condoms and lube, holding it out to Bran. “It’s your place. You want to fuck him first?” he said, hair messier than usual from Jay’s grabbing.

“Fuck, yes,” he said, snatching the items. “Come on, babe, hands and knees,” he said, indicating toward the dazed Jay.

Together, they flipped Jay over onto his hands and knees, the man automatically dropping his chest the mattress, making both men almost lose it to see him so displayed.

At this rate, Bran wasn’t even going to last getting his dick inside.

Bran grabbed his backside greedily, spreading his cheeks to show off the small pucker nestled between them. He pressed one dry finger against the rim, watching it flex under the slight pressure. He took a moment to enjoy the attractive curve of his ass—Jay wasn't exactly the stereotypical twink, but there were soft lines of muscles hidden under the thin frame and a surprisingly plush ass. He nipped playfully at one cheek before burying his face between them.

He lapped a long strip over the entrance, and Jay gave a squeak in surprise that Bran ignored. He lapped at the hole, spreading his cheeks apart with both hands to get a better angle as he eagerly began to eat the other man out.

“Shit, man,” he heard Aaron say. “Didn't know how much of a freak you were.”

Bran pulled away, and he felt bold—what were boundaries anyway? He was about to fuck a complete stranger in his bed with one of his oldest friends. “There is a lot you don't know, dude,” he answered with bravado. He returned to bury his face in Jay’s ass, sliding his tongue around his eager hole and loving the way it made the other man beg.

Bran felt Jay shift, and it was followed by the wet sound of kissing. Bran pushed his tongue into the tight ring of muscles, bringing one hand up to gently pressed a finger into him. He felt Jay tense, and he lapped eagerly at his hole as a distraction as he gently thrust his index finger in and out.

“Yes, like that,” he heard Aaron they say, words muffled and coming out ragged. “Like having your pretty little ass eaten?”

He felt Jay shift and moan. He had never been one for dirty talk, but he must have been doing it wrong because hearing the filth coming out of Aaron’s mouth was a definite turn on.

“I'm feeling a little neglected, babe, can I get that talented tongue of yours back?” Aaron said, brushing back the long black bangs from his eyes..

Bran pulled away in time to watch Aaron guide Jay’s mouth back to his leaking cock with a gentle hand on the back of his head. The sight was amazing, the pale stranger with his red lips stretched around Aaron's dick and eyes shut in pleasure.

Bran scrambled to find the bottle of lube, drizzling some liberally down the crack of Jay’s ass before he coated his fingers. Jay was already a little loose, worked open with Bran’s tongue, so the first finger went in smoothly. He wasted no time adding a second, sinking them both into the second joint. He pumped them in and out a few times, trying different angles until Jay pulled his mouth off Aaron to give a loud moan and press back against him.

Bran looked at Aaron from over Jay’s back, and he was struck by how _not_ awkward it was. They shared a grin, and he pressed his fingers in again at the same angle, enjoying the sight of Aaron's hand tangled into Jay’s short black hair to pull him up onto his knees for a kiss.

“He find your special spot, babe?” Aaron murmured between kisses, hand wrapped around Jay’s cock to tease him with his fingertips. “Do you want him to fuck you good? Shove his big hard cock in that tight little hole of yours?”

Bran slid in a third finger, watching the muscles flex as he rubbed his cock against the softness of Jay’s ass.

Jay nodded eagerly, opening his mouth to answer and nothing but breathy moans coming out.

Bran removed his fingers, ripping open the pre-lubed condom and rolling quickly on himself. Fuck, he bet Jay felt amazing.

Aaron held up a hand to stop him. “I need you to use your words, babe. Did you want a nice hard cock to fuck you?”

Jay nodded again. “Yes, please. Please fuck me,” he said with a broken rasp, arms wrapped around Aaron’s shoulders as he tried to hold himself up.

Bran pressed the tip against his entrance, teasing and not pressing in just yet. “I don't know if he deserves this. What do you think, Aaron?”

Aaron smirked again, nibbling along Jay's neck that was already marked with a series of small bruises. “I have to agree, my friend.”

Jay gave a frustrated noise, trying to push back into Bran but stopped by the hands on his hip.

Bran didn’t know how fun, how arousing, it was to tease his partner like this. He rubbed himself along to crack, the head of his dick catching on the rim every once in a while and making Jay whimper.

“Please fuck me with your cock,” Jay said, words coming out fast, hurried, breathless. “I want you to split me open, please. Please give it to me, fuck like a whore, please, please, please.”

“Jesus,” Bran said. “If you insist.” He pressed himself in, the head of his cock popping past the first ring of muscle. Fuck, it felt so good. Jay was hot and tight, and the lube giving enough slip that he sunk in deeper without meaning to. He knew he should go slow, but the litany of pleas coming out of Jay urged him on. He shifted his hips forward, bottoming out.

“That's a good boy,” Aaron said into Jay’s ear. “You took that dick like a champ, babe.”

Brand pulled all the way out, enjoying the heady mewl he got in response and the way his hole flexed as though begging for him to put his dick back in. Bran obliged, pushing balls deep in long, hard thrusts that shook the bed.

“Fuck, man, he feels so good,” Bran managed to say between pants and moans. He was getting the workout of a lifetime, but despite the strain of his muscles protesting, he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wanted to.

Aaron broke off the messy kiss he was giving Jay. “Come on, babe. Let's put that mouth to good use again.”

Jay balanced himself back on his hands, nuzzling Aaron's cock as he pushed back into Bran with every thrust. His moans became mixed with small throaty chokes as he was forced to take Aaron deeper with each push.

They devolved into nothing more than the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the sound of breathing, and wet, dirty slurps. It was the hottest mix of sensations that Bran had ever had in his life—the sight of Jay speared on his cock and his lips wrapped around Aaron's.

His orgasm hit him hard, and he let out a guttural half scream as he emptied himself into the condom, hips continuing their movement as he rode out his orgasm. He draped himself over Jay’s back, biting down on his shoulders as he finished.

Bran managed to find the energy to pull out, grabbing Jay’s hair to pull him into a kiss. Both Jay and Aaron were still so hard, and he wanted—no needed—to see them come.

Jay was a mess, makeup smeared and lips red. His hair was sticky up in all directions, and he was so fucking attractive still. “Your turn,” he said, his voice a rasp as he looked at Aaron.

There was a minute of shuffling as they decided how they wanted to proceed. They settled on having Jay in Bran’s lap so they could kiss while Aaron fucked him.

Bran nuzzled Jay’s neck, peppering it with kisses and lips as he kneaded his ass, spreading him, and dipping his fingers back into his gaping, loose entrance momentarily just for the hiss of pleasure he got in return.

He knew when Aaron slid in by Jay’s pleased little noise—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—and the way he crushed their lips together, eager and begging.

Jay bit down not-so-gently on his bottom lip as he held onto Bran’s shoulders, his hard cock rubbing himself off against Bran’s stomach.

In any other situation, Bran would have been up for a second round. Instead, he murmured a string of dirty phrases that would normally have made him blush into Jay’s ear.

“You look so good with a cock in you, babe. Like you were made to take it like this, made to be such a dirty little slut for us,” Bran said, nipping at his ear. “I bet you take boys home all the time and let them fuck you just like this. But damn, we were the lucky ones today, weren’t we?”

Jay came with a high-pitched cry, pressing his face into Bran’s shoulder to bite down. The pain was sharp, but Bran couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it. He felt the hot splatter of come onto his stomach, and he murmured praises into the man’s ear.

Aaron finished soon after with a growl and an almost violent jerk to his hip, and then they were nothing but a tired mix of limbs, sweat, and kisses.

Bran drew Aaron into a soft kiss at one point before doing the same to Jay who was too drowsy and fucked out to do much more than murmur against his lips. Bran pulled out the nearby towel to wipe them both off before turning off the lights.

His head had barely hit the pillow before he was asleep.

* * *

It was the movement more than the sounds that woke Bran up the next morning. He cringed at the blinding light that filtered through his curtains, and he tried to blink away the dry crust in the corner of his eye. It took him a second to remember the previous night, and the shaking movements next to him had him turning to see Aaron fucking Jay on his hands and knees.

Both looked up at his movement, and Aaron gave a smirk. “Good morning, sleepyhead. We were wondering how long it would take for you to wake up.”

Bran could already feel his cock start to swell, eyes focused on Jay’s open mouth and the shake of his body as he met Aaron thrust for thrust.

Jay gave his own smirk, and Bran wasted no time in pulling him up for a kiss, sandwiching the man between them. He ignored the morning breath and grit on his tongue, instead focusing on drawing out long moans from the other. Jay’s hand had already crept down to stroke Bran to full hardness, and he could feel Aaron’s hand bump against his stomach as he pumped Jay in time with his thrusts.

“I want to see that pretty mouth of yours at work,” Bran said, shocked at his own audacity. His filters were always lowered in the morning, and he figured that propriety was a moot point after having a threesome the night before.

Jay nodded and scrambled down, messily and eagerly bringing the hard cock to his lips. He wrapped his lips around the head, his hand stroking him in time as he worked it passed his lips and down his throat.

Fuck, it _was_ as good the morning after as it had been the night before.

Bran kept his eyes trained downward, enjoying the sight of the other man with his eyes closed and mouth stuffed with his cock. His eyes flickered up to look at Aaron, and it should have been awkward but instead, it just made him hotter.

Aaron smirked, leaning over to pull him into his own kiss. They wasted no time, pressing the lips together, moaning into each other’s mouths as Jay connected them.

Aaron broke off the kiss, panting. “Fuck, I’m going to come.” Bran watched as he shifted, intent on pulling out, and he only now realized that the man wasn’t wearing a condom.

Jay pulled back from sucking Bran’s cock and locked his ankles around Aaron’s legs. “No,” he said, turning his head back around. “I want you to come in me.”

 _Fuck_. Bran and Aaron both gave a low moan. Bran knew it was a bad idea, every safe sex lecture he’d ever received said it was a bad idea, but it was hard to not get hard at the thought of coming deep into someone else, marking them from the inside with his come like a dirty little brand that no one else would know about.

Aaron obviously agreed because he moaned as well, hands grabbing onto Jay’s hips as he pistoned himself to in and out of Jay, finally giving a feral growl as he came in the other man, hips pressed against his backside.

Jay moaned, halfheartedly still mouthing at Bran’s cock, clearly enjoying the feeling of being filled.

Aaron pulled out, and Jay whined at the sensation.

“Come on, your turn,” Jay said, turning to Bran and eager. “Ever have sloppy seconds? Come on, fuck me, baby.”

Jesus, fuck, this guy was a freak. Bran had never slept with anyone like him before, and he was helpless to resist. He slid in and groaned loudly at the sensation. He hadn’t fucked anyone bare in over a year since he broke up with his last boyfriend. It was tight and warm and wetter than usual, no doubt from Aaron’s come.

The next few minutes were a blur of sensation. He remembered wrapping one hand around Jay’s cock while Aaron paid open-mouthed kisses on the man who had devolved in a mass of writhing flesh.

“That’s it, baby,” Aaron said, voice husky. “Take it like a good boy. Do you like getting my come fucked into you? Do you like taking two cocks like a perfect little slut.”

Jay nodded eagerly, wrapping his arms around Aaron’s neck as he met each of Bran’s thrusts. He gave a high, heady moan, and Bran felt him tense and tighten. Jay came, covering his stomach and the sheets with long, pearly ropes of come.

Bran followed shortly after, hips ramming into the smaller man who just responded with content, little moans, weakly chasing the feeling.

He rested his head against Jay’s back, pressing light kisses against the sweaty flesh as he listened to Aaron whisper praises.

“Fuck, you are amazing,” Bran heard himself say, and he drew the man into a gentler kiss.

He groaned as he pulled out and couldn’t help himself from looking down at the wrecked hole. The edges were red and puffing, and it gaped a little as a thin trickle of come leaked out. He couldn’t help but press his finger against it, watching it flutter as he pushed the come back in.

All three flopped back down on the bed, breathing heavily and tangled in a pile of limbs and sweat. Bran didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if we wanted to break this moment of comforting silence to move onto the awkward aftermath.

“So,” he tried anyway. “Anyone want breakfast?”

Jay looked over and smirked. “I’m pretty sure I’ve had my filling of sausage already,” and it was so cheesy that all of them laughed.

* * *

Oswald didn’t end up staying for breakfast. He wasn’t the breakfast after kind of guy—he had no interest in learning about either of them, and he couldn’t even remember their names. He had been calling them Cute One and Hot One in his head ever since the Cute One had bought him a drink.

Instead, he stumbled onto the curb and walked a few blocks, his limp coming from more than just his bad leg this time. The ache had been pleasant, the stretch and pull and adrenaline of sex made his body buzz and made him forget for a few hours. He wasn’t anyone during those hours—not Oswald, not Mayor Cobblepot, not Penguin. He could be free to do whatever he wanted, free to allow him to pursue his own fantasies that he had desperately squashed in recent years. The Penguin couldn’t be seen sucking off men in a dirty bathroom, but Jay could. And Oswald was beyond caring. He just wanted to not think about Ed, stop imagining his best friend wrapped around his perfect women every night.

He had hoped that the infatuation— _he knew it wasn’t infatuation, knew his own heart_ —would fade. He had hoped it was only his libido that yearned, but he had been spending almost a month fucking men who were just as beautiful as Ed, and yet, he still felt an ache in his heart every time Ed would smile at him at City Hall, still felt the butterflies in his stomach whenever they might touch, and he _hated_ this.

He waited at the corner as he waited for Gabe to pick him up. It was a gray morning in Gotham as it usually was, and the streets were mostly empty except for those doing a similar walk of shame. The working girls were packing it in for the night, and Oswald watched as more than one group stumbled passed him in club attire and into the nearby diner.

He could feel the remnants of semen drip down his legs, and he leaned against the lamp post, putting the weight off of his leg. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one with relish.

He knew it had been stupid, but he had been making a lot of stupid decisions lately. He thought he had grown out of the unprotected sex phase with strangers years ago after he had his first major scare.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. He enjoyed the feeling of a man coming in him, enjoyed the feeling of someone else pushing in afterward to fuck him sloppy and wet. It was a delicious feeling, to be so desired and wanted, touched and kissed. He enjoyed it, he wanted it, so why shouldn’t he have it?

He had hoped that he’d have someone one day who he trusted to do it for him, someone who would lay out all his fantasies, and Oswald would know he would be safe.

But he knew that wasn’t going to happen, and he wanted to wreck every small wish he had ever wanted.

He took another drag of his cigarette as he waited for Gabe, closing his eyes so he could focus on the sting of tobacco and the sounds of morning traffic.

After all, wishes were for children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. Did I mention that this is about 90% porn and 10% angst? Cause if not, now you know and it isn't going to get any less filthy as it goes on. And don't forget the abundance of original characters.
> 
> As always, please drop me a comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing who else out there enjoys this filth as much as me. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Oswald made a lazy loop around the party, his perpetual glass of wine still cradled in his hands. As mayor, his duties meant that he had to mix and mingle with the rich and famous, and one charity dinner was just the same as the next. He had browsed the silent auction, and while nothing had truly interested him, he made sure to place a few strategic bids that would have others scrambling to top him.

Usually, Ed would be at his elbow all evening, whispering him names and useful tidbits of information as he went up to greet each person, his ever careful and watchful shadow. But, as Ed had been apt to do the last few weeks, he had made plans with his girlfriend this evening, leaving Oswald alone and without his plus-one.

But it was fine. It was always fine.

Oswald checked his watch, wondering whether it would be polite for him to leave sooner rather than later. The lack of Ed made the hole in his chest ache, and he wanted to fill the void with something else in a very different hole.

His nighttime trips were becoming more frequent—to the point that Gabe was no longer surprised at the request to drop him off in the evening or the call to pick him up hours later. And every day Ed spent with that woman, Oswald felt a part of him wither. Throwing back a few shots of cheap vodka and picking up young, attractive men made him feel alive for the few extras hours—exhausted him enough that he could fall asleep when he got home and not want to cry.

He was losing sleep, and the darkening bags under his eyes were making it evident. But even if he didn’t go out, he’d spend hours tossing and turning in bed, wondering what he could have done differently or drawing up increasingly elaborate plans to remove the obstacle permanently. If he was going to be awake anyway, he might as well pass the time in more pleasurable and numbing activities.

If Oswald left in the next hour, he could be at a club just shortly after midnight, the perfect time for hunting when the crowds were at their peak. It was a Thursday, so there wouldn’t be as many people out, but Gotham never slept. Oswald favored the bars and clubs near the university and had learned that university students excelled at no-string-attached sex and every opportunity to get dru—

“Oh, Mayor Cobblepot,” someone said, jarring Oswald out of his musing.

Oswald steeled himself before he turned to face the newcomer.

“Mr. Xiang,” Oswald greeted warmly, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. The Xiang family held several prominent businesses throughout Gotham, though their most profitable continued to be their chain of high-end hotels scattered between Gotham and Metropolis. The Xiang family was one of the more passive families in Gotham; they rarely partook in activities of dubious legality but were well-known for their ability to keep their mouths shut for the right price. “How good to see you again. It really has been too long,” Oswald said, trying to sound charming and friendly.

“You are a busy man, Mayor Cobblepot,” Nathaniel Xiang said with a smile and playful slap on the shoulder. He was a distinguished man for someone entering his sixties, with only the barest threads of silver hair woven through the otherwise black locks. Other than a set of crow's feet around his eyes, his face remained remarkably free of wrinkles.

“Please, call me Oswald,” Oswald said. He smiled, close-lipped, and took a polite sip of his wine as he looked at the taller man from under his lashes.

“Then I insist you call me Nathan,” Mr. Xiang—Nathan—said. “I don’t believe you’ve met my youngest son, Brandon,” he said, stepping aside to bring the loitering figure that Oswald hadn’t noticed into their circle.

“It’s nice to meet you, Brandon,” Oswald said, already reaching out a hand out of courtesy. He followed the hand up to the young man’s face, and his heart almost stopped in panic.

Because at the end of the hand was the familiar looking face of the Cute One he had picked up last Friday when Oswald had decided that two was better than one. They had left him their phone numbers, and Oswald had been tempted to actually call. But it seemed it too much of a risk for just the return promise of good sex.

“Likewise, Mayor Cobblepot,” Brandon replied, eyes equally as wide as Oswald’s as he recognized whose hand he was shaking. Their handshake was stilted and awkward, and Oswald pulled away, clearing his throat, as he eyed the younger man, trying to convey the threat of excruciating pain if he said anything at all about their last meeting.

“Brandon just started his Masters in Finance at Gotham University this last fall,” Nathan continued, chin up in pride and oblivious to the undercurrent between his son and Oswald.

“You must be very proud,” Oswald managed to say, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. “Grooming to take over the family business?”

Nathan laughed heartily, slapping his son on the back. “Hopefully! His siblings, bless their souls, have no head for business, so Bran, here, is our last chance.”

Oswald laughed politely, taking a long draught of his wine that was borderline impolite. He made idle chit chat for a few moments, Brandon saying very little, which must have been normal given that his father didn’t give him any odd looks. Oswald finally managed to excuse himself when he found the opportunity to introduce the two to another guest—Marlene Rossi—who was a prominent banker in the city.

Oswald walked away, slow, all while cursing himself for his avarice, his greed, his lust. All the boy had to do was talk, and Oswald’s reputation could come crashing down. It didn’t matter whether anyone believed him; the press would jump on any scandalous rumor. And Oswald only could guess the number of his past conquests that would come out of the woodwork once they discovered who they had been fucking in a dirty bathroom or had blown them in an alleyway.

Oswald would have to rid himself of the boy, which was a pity as the Xiang Family was a good ally, but having such a liability out there was unacceptable. He was already running through the least suspicious means of death he could get away with on such a high-profile family when he was interrupted by his target in question.

“Jay, I mean, Mayor Cobblepot,” Brandon said, stuttering as he brushed his fingers against Oswald’s arm to catch his attention.

Oswald wondered if he could play dumb, but he knew it was a lost cause. They had fucked not once, but twice, and the second time was in full daylight. So, Oswald sighed instead and put on his best menacing smile. “Brandon,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“Um,” Brandon said, looking around nervously. Oswald could only hope it would be interpreted as him being unused to these get-togethers given his age. “Can we talk? I mean, maybe in private?” he managed to stutter out.

Oswald gave him a measuring look but decided that it couldn’t hurt. The boy would be dead soon anyway. “Let’s take a walk around the garden,” he said, linking arms with the young man in a friendly gesture as he led him out to the veranda. It was empty, as he suspected, but they remained silent until they were in the gardens, the sound of music and chatter quieting more with each step.

“I just wanted to say, I mean, I didn’t know who you were. Last week, I mean. Aaron didn’t either, and I won’t tell,” Bran sputtered.

“And why should I believe you?” Oswald said, tilting his chin up as he looked at him with narrow eyes. “From my viewpoint, you and your friend are a liability. I assume you know my reputation. So, why shouldn’t I have you killed?”

Brandon paled, eyes wide as he wrung his hands. “I won’t tell,” he reaffirmed. “I have a lot to lose as well. My father, I mean, my whole family, doesn’t know I’m—” he broke off, and the silence stretched.

“Gay?” Oswald finished, one eyebrow raised as he tapped his fingers over the handle of his cane.

Brandon nodded. “So, I don’t want anyone to know about last week any more than you do.”

Oswald considered Brandon, lips pressed into a thin line as he gauged the truthfulness of his words. “Let’s say I believe you. You are aware that should you betray me, if I hear even the smallest rumor, I will make you _wish_ for death,” he said, looking at Brandon in the eyes as he spoke, every word made with a cool calmness that spoke of a promise.

Brandon jerked his head up and down. “Yes, of course. I understand.”

Oswald gave him another long look, stretching the silence to make his point. “Good,” he finally said when Brandon started to fidget, uncomfortable under Oswald’s scrutiny. “Now, we should best return to the party.” Oswald began to turn to head back into the lit room, already planning his getaway. He knew it would be stupid to go out for the night, but the extra stress of the night just made him crave the burn even more.

He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Wait!” Brandon said, not noticing his misstep.

Oswald glared at him and then at the hand that was still touching his forearm, tapping his cane against the stone path in agitation. “Yes?” he said through clenched teeth.

“I was just, um,” Brandon said, suddenly losing his ability to formulate words again. “We gave you our numbers, but you never called.”

“Yes, and I bet you can now imagine why,” Oswald said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I was thinking that maybe we can have dinner together? Since I know your secret, and you know mine?”

Oswald sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know if you understand the reason we call them one-night stands. If I was looking for a relationship, I wouldn’t be picking up a new man every other night, would I?”

Brandon shook his head. “No, I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to date you, but I meant—”

“Get on with it,” Oswald barked, losing what little patience he had.

“Aaron and I talked about it. We all had fun, right? With me and Aaron. So what if we made it a regular thing? Less risk for both of us?” he proposed, voice trailing off at Oswald’s unimpressed gaze. “It was just a thought,” he finished, voice soft and unsure.

Oswald considered the proposition. He couldn’t deny that the evening had been one of the highlights of the week; the press of two bodies against his, the feeling of bare skin and the rough, ardent praises being whispered into his ear. And it _would_ be less of a risk—less chance of being discovered. He knew he had been lucky so far that no one had made the connection between Jay and Mayor Cobblepot, and the chance of discovery only went up with each encounter.

And the boy seemed to be honest, and the threat of pain and death was a powerful motivator.

Decision made, Oswald gave a small nod. “Okay,” he said, ignoring how Brandon’s head shot up in disbelief. “Midnight, tonight. Your apartment.” That was two hours away, enough time for Oswald to escape the gala and change to get a ride back into the city.

“Yes, of course,” Brandon agreed, nodding furiously.

Oswald was already heading back toward the open doors, planning the last round of socializing that he would get done before leaving. He stopped a few feet away, turning his head to give Brandon another piercing look. “And I expect both of you to be there,” he said. “So, don’t keep me waiting.” The smile this time was sly and his tone was low and full of promise.

“I won’t,” Brandon said to Oswald’s back. “We won’t.”

Oswald didn’t bother hiding his smile.

* * *

Oswald made Gabe drop him off two blocks away from the apartment, glad that his memory hadn’t failed him in remembering the location. He hobbled his way the short distance until he found the familiar complex, old weathered and discolored brick with a small stoop and a glistening callbox. He was surprised that the youngest Xiang son was living in such a place—it was far from the worst of what Gotham had to offer, but also several steps below what he knew that family could afford. Oswald didn’t know if that made his estimation of Brandon go up or down.

What did make the estimation of the boy go up was that he was waiting for Oswald at the doorway. He practically jumped to open the glass door once he caught sight of him.

Oswald tried not to preen at the obvious once-over the young man gave Oswald. He knew that he looked good in his usual skin-tight outfit, this time with an old second-hand leather coat thrown on in deference to the cold. He had chosen a soft blush lipstick instead of his typical dark plum and decided to go for bigger, bolder lashes that he knew made his eyes pop. He knew he had achieved the desired effect by the way Brandon stuttered out a greeting.

“Jay—I mean, sir, Mayo—” Bran started as Oswald walked through the doorway.

Oswald stopped him by pulling him down by the collar of his shirt and crushing their lips together. He opened his mouth, coaxing the other into a messy kiss with one hand on the back of his neck. He nipped playfully at the bottom lip before he pulled back. “You may call me Oswald in private if you wish but always refer to be as Jay in public. You ever call me by my title when we are like this, and I’ll have to slit your throat.” He trailed one finger down his lips and neck as he spoke, cutting his nail across his neck in a move that was a clear threat.

Brandon swallowed but nodded. “Of course, J—Jay,” he said, starting to head up the stairs. He lived on the third floor if Oswald remembered, though that night was a drunken blur at times.

“Is your friend waiting for us?” Oswald asked as he trailed behind them as they made their way up.

“Ah, yes,” Brandon said. “I, uh, didn’t tell him about you. I mean, of course, he knows you’ll be here, but I didn’t tell him anything about, well, the rest of it. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to?”

It had been child’s play to find out the identity of his friend. Aaron Whitford, born in Gotham in an upper-middle-class home. Twenty-four years old and finishing his master’s in mechanical engineering. His parents divorced when he was fifteen, and he had a reputation for working hard and partying harder.

And most importantly, he had an easy pressure point. He was the oldest of three and had two younger sisters who he practically raised and would do anything for.

Oswald made a noncommittal noise as they reached the final landing. Brandon had evidently left the door unlocked, because he just pushed it open, not bothering with his keys. Oswald could hear the sound of music filter out the door—something modern and with heavy bass.

“He here?” he heard someone, presumably Aaron, say from inside.

“He is,” Oswald answered, stepping through the door. The place was as he remembered, small but clean and with all the modern finishes and touches, including an open layout and a large marble countertop. He kicked the door closed behind him, flipping shut the deadbolt.

“Hey, babe,” Aaron said, giving a smirk that was infuriatingly hot. Oswald was remembering now why Aaron had been the Hot One—he was all bright green eyes and loose blond hair wrapped up in a package with nice biceps.

Oswald didn’t answer, just closed the gap and pulled him down to his height for a similar kiss to the one he gave Brandon, but this time he wasn’t shy in palming him through his jeans, massaging his slowly hardening cock. “So Brandon has told me that you aren’t up to speed with our arrangement?” he said once he pulled away.

Aaron blinked a few times, dazed, before he shook his head, resuming his interrupted rummaging in the freezer. “Nada. He’s been as quiet as a clam about it.” He finally pulled out an ice tray and busied himself with popping one large cube into each of the three glasses.

Oswald decided to be straightforward. “My name is Oswald Cobblepot,” he said, and the reaction he got was for Aaron to drop the ice tray and his jaw slackened. “Yes, yes,” he said dismissively. “That Oswald Cobblepot. And the arrangement is this.” He palmed at his cock again, which, despite the shock, hadn’t lost its interest in the proceedings. “I need someone to fuck me just like you fucked me last week, and I’m willing to give you two first taste. But you breathe a word of this to anyone, ever, outside of the three of us, and I’ll end you. I will make you wish, to beg, for death.”

Interestingly enough, that just made Aaron’s cock twitch in his hand, and his breathing quickened.

“Do you understand, Mr. Whitford?” he finished, stepping back.

“Uh,” Aaron said and then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I understand.”

“Good,” Oswald said, smirking. “Now, shall we get started?

* * *

Oswald knew that this idea might come back to haunt him later, but he was beyond caring about that. He needed this, needed the pain and burn and physical touch. After the first few awkward minutes, both Bran and Aaron had gotten over whatever timidity that they had lingering and proceeded to do precisely as Oswald asked.

They hadn’t made it to the bedroom for the first round, their clothes scattered across the living room and kitchen where Oswald had gotten a blowjob by the kitchen counter and then been fingered by one boy while he choked on another’s cock.

By the time they did make it to the bed, all three were panting heavily, sweat already dripping down their backs. When Bran went for a condom, Oswald stopped him. “No,” he said, spreading his legs apart eagerly as he grabbed a pillow to stuff under his chest. “Fuck me raw.”

He had always loved the feeling of bareback sex, the intensity and the sensation of another man’s come dripping out of him. He had stopped risking himself for the pleasure years ago, but now he didn’t care. They had already had him without a condom just a few days ago, so why did it matter now?

The slide of the first cock in him for the night was always mind-blowing, the rough friction and stretch as his body worked to accommodate another man. Oswald moaned messily around the cock in his mouth, tonguing the slit to taste pre-come as he scraped his teeth gently against the ridge of the head, bracing himself on the other man’s thighs.

He pulled off, looking up and back at the two boys under half-lidded eyes. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it,” he said, looking at them. Then he pinpointed the one not inside him—Aaron. “Or were your words last week just blowing smoke?” He smirked. “I want you to choke me on your dick, _babe_.”

Aaron groaned, hand reaching to grab the back of Oswald’s head. “Fuck, yeah, I got it.”

Oswald moaned as he felt the thick length slide down his throat and the rough fist in his hair. He relaxed his throat and focused on the dual sensation of being used. He could feel Brandon quickening his pace, his pelvis landing hard on Oswald’s backside with every thrust, pushing him to take Aaron’s cock deeper into his mouth.

Brandon came with a low moan, hips moving faster as he emptied himself in Oswald, who groaned at the warm slick feeling that slid between his cheeks.

Aaron forced Oswald back, eyes blown wide as he looked down at him. “Fuck, babe, you liked that, didn’t you?”

Oswald nodded, still hard.

Aaron drug his cock over Oswald’s face, slapping his cheek lightly, which only made Oswald moan and open his mouth. “How did we get so lucky to find a freak like you?” Aaron said. “I want to cover that pretty face with my come. How does that sound?”

Oswald nodded eagerly. Fuck yes.

Aaron finished himself in a few quick strokes before he released a long stream of pearly come that coated Oswald’s face and hair. Oswald caught some in his open mouth, rolling the taste on his tongue as he felt the humiliation of the cooling come on him.

“Now, I think you deserve a reward,” someone, Oswald didn’t know or care, said.

He let himself be manhandled onto his back, and then he felt a warm mouth over his cock. Someone else pulled him into a kiss, tasting the other man’s come as they swapped wet, dirty kisses. Oswald came with a quiet groan into the kiss, legs wrapped around a man’s neck as he emptied himself into his mouth.

After, Oswald accepted the towel offered, carefully wiping his face off without messing up his makeup too much. He crawled into the offered space on the end of the bed, allowing him the small luxury of a post-coital cuddle.

“You really are something else, Oz,” Aaron said, kissing a line down his back.

“Oz?” Oswald said, dubious.

Bran shrugged. “It makes sense. If we try to switch names in public, we are likely to make a mistake. And well, I don’t think anyone would hear us saying Oz and think of you.” Bran blushed.

Oswald hummed but accepted the explanation without further comment.

“Are you staying the night?” Bran asked.

Oswald considered, looking at the time. It was tempting but… “No,” he said. “I’m afraid not. I have lunch with a few constituents tomorrow.”

There was a pause as Aaron and Bran both had to remind themselves that they had, in fact, just fucked the mayor.

“Fuck,” they both said at the same time.

And Oswald laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later than I had intended to update, but I hope everyone stilled enjoyed! <3 Also, did I mention that this fic is basically subtitled Oswald Sleeps with All the Men? Cause if I didn't, now you know. 
> 
> Please take a moment to drop a comment to let me know what you thought. Every comment I get gives me the warm and fuzzies and helps push me to write! <3


	4. Chapter 4

Oswald couldn’t deny that he had been in a better mood since he had made the arrangement with his boys—and they were _his_ boys now, without a doubt. That first week had been a test. He had sent surveillance on both of them, tapping their phones and apartments, but they were true to their word. They never spoke of their encounter with anyone except each other.

He hadn’t slowed down how often he left the manor, but his destination wholly different now. By unspoken agreement, Brandon’s apartment had ended up being the meeting grounds of choice as he lived alone and wasn’t, well, the mayor of Gotham.

And it had been almost two months into their little affair, and Oswald was...fond. His heart still ached every time he looked at Ed, who was still waxing poetry about his Isabella and who was, despite having a room in the mansion, spending more of his evenings at her house. They still saw each other every day, and their offices were next to each other at City Hall, but...it wasn’t the same.

Sometimes, Ed would still look at Oswald like he hung the stars, like he was something amazing and wonderful, and Oswald would find himself falling more and more in love. And he hated himself for it.

But his boys...helped. Not that he would ever discuss such things with them, but they were young, carefree, and it made it easy for Oswald to slip into their lives, to step out of being Oswald Cobblepot for a few hours. There was a thrill in it—for the three of them to slip into some shady club and make out on the dance floor, for one of them to drag the others into a dark corner to fuck barely hidden to the crowd.

And having them kiss and touch and tell him he was amazing and beautiful made everything in his heart hurt a little less.

Brandon Xiang ended up being an astonishing apt conversationalist once he got over his nerves of speaking to the Penguin. And Oswald could see how he was likely to be the next to take over his father’s business—he had an astute head for finance and business. He endeared himself to Oswald with his quick wit and boldness on occasion. He was the timider of the two boys, still prone to asking instead of taking but more free with his praise.

Aaron Whitmore was, in a word, fun. Sharp and intelligent without a doubt but with a wild side that Oswald had always been attracted to. He had a filthy mind and even filthier mouth with a taste for smooth whiskeys and cigarettes. Together, they made a good team, and Oswald was finding himself enjoying their company more and more.

Which explained why he hadn’t called Gabe yet, despite that it was well past midnight, and their little tryst was definitely completed for the evening. Instead, Oswald was lazily making out with Aaron, nestled in his lap on the couch, both still naked. All three were too worn out to be able to have another round so it was just kissing for kissing’s sake.

Bran had shimmied into a loose pair of pajama pants and was scrounging them up a midnight snack, the bang and the clatter of pots and pans acting as background noise. They had switched on a movie—something Oswald didn’t recognize and had no wish to watch—but it gave an excuse for cuddling, something Oswald was becoming more and more familiar with.

The two of them finally separated when they heard Bran return to the couch, setting down a ceramic plate on the glass coffee table that was followed by a glass of milk.

Oswald raised an eyebrow. “Milk? Really?”

Aaron laughed, nuzzling Oswald’s neck as he continued to pepper his collarbone with kisses. “Maybe he thinks you didn’t have enough protein tonight, babe.”

Bran, who two weeks ago would have been stuttering an apology, instead just rolled his eyes. “It’s this or water. I don’t have much in the fridge, but I had enough to make some turkey sandwiches.” Two sandwiches sat on the plate, both already cut in half diagonally.

Oswald leaned into Aaron, waiting expectantly. Bran had a _thing,_ and this thing was that he liked to feed Oswald. And not just feed him by cooking, but by hand-feeding him piece by piece, like a spoiled pet. He had been a little ruffled by it at first, being treated like an invalid or a child, but after a few attempts had grown to enjoy it—it was nice feeling spoiled, nice having someone so attentive.

Bran handed one half to Aaron before lifting up a corner to Oswald’s mouth who took a bite off the corner. It was cheap white bread and generic deli meat, something Oswald hadn’t otherwise bothered with in years, but it did the job of quieting his rumbling stomach.

They finished the two sandwiches and glass of milk in short order, the boys chatting about school and class and the mundane while Oswald listened. At first, they had tried to find common topics between the three, but the crossover between criminal kingpin-slash-politician and two graduate students was small.

And Oswald found he enjoyed listening to the day-to-day life. It was something he had never had—worries about grades or friendships or research. His life had been a constant struggle from the beginning, and there hadn’t been a time until recently where he hadn’t been worrying about money or his own life. So, it was a nice break from his typical day, to rest and listen to Sally-so-and-so or Professor-whatshisname.

Oswald gave a large yawn, stopping their conversation.

Aaron checked the time. “It is getting late,” he said. “I guess we better head to bed?”

Oswald nodded. “Let me call my driver to pick me up.”

“You know you can always stay here, right?” Bran said as he started to gather up Oswald’s clothing for him, handing him his shirt as he searched for his pants.

Oswald knew. “And you know that making it back to the manor to change and then back out to the city is an unnecessary risk and a waste of time. Better leave at night than during the light of day,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

Aaron lounged on the couch, not bothering to cover his nakedness as Oswald redressed himself. Oswald couldn’t deny that he was a fine specimen of a man, and the display was almost enough to convince him to stay a bit longer.

Almost.

Bran nodded. “But we’ll still see you this weekend?”

Oswald nodded, checking for his phone in his pockets. They had worked out a schedule—Oswald would meet them during the weekday and send a car to bring them to the mansion on the weekends.

Oswald had considered long and hard about extending their arrangement into his regular life; he had done everything to keep his two lives separate. But as the weeks dragged on, Oswald couldn’t deny that having constant company had been good for him.

At first, he thought that bringing the two around to the manor as impractical with Ed living in the mansion as well, but Ed had basically been around for no more than the occasional change of clothes for the last months. And Olga was too well-paid to say anything and only stayed around to cook his meals.

“I’ll send a car for you at the usual time,” Oswald said, tapping out a message to his driver—someone he had more than enough dirt on to keep his secrets to the grave. He had replaced Gabe as his late-night driver after one too many times the poor man was found yawning in the middle of the day.

His boys both gave him goodbye kisses, soft and sweet, and Oswald almost wished that he could love one of them.

* * *

Oswald had been acting strange lately.

Ed was ashamed that it had taken him this long to notice. He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but he was losing Oswald.

Or perhaps he did know. He had been spending less and less time with his best friend since he started dating Isabella. He spent his weekends at her place and would often have lunch and dinner with her during the week. He only saw Oswald during work hours despite that they technically lived together at the mansion, but he had been so caught up with his new relationship that he didn’t realize he was losing him.

It hit him one day that he didn’t know when the last time he and Oswald had just...chatted. All of their recent encounters had them together because of work—Ed catching Oswald up on his itinerary or briefing him before a press conference. He couldn’t remember the last time they spent time together and talked about things other than work—whether it was just enjoying a nightcap or chatting in front of the fireplace. He had once heard that gaining a serious relationship meant losing a friend, and he—

“What’s wrong, my love?” Isabella asked, reaching across the table to top off his cooling cup of tea. They were enjoying a lazy morning together before he had to head to City Hall, and she looked stunning wrapped up in her satin cream dressing gown. Her face was free of makeup, and her long blond hair fell to her shoulders in a silken trail. Sometimes, he still looked up and saw Kristen, but it was happening less and less as time went on. ( _Liar, liar, pants on fire, a voice said._ )

Ed smiled back at her as he stirred in a single cube of sugar. “Nothing, just thinking. I realized that I haven’t been spending much time with Oswald lately,” he admitted.

“You see him every day,” she pointed out as she daintily speared a piece of cantaloupe on her plate with her fork. Ed’s own plate was barely touched—his egg white and spinach scramble was likely cold by now, but he had lost his appetite.

“Yes, but for work. He’s my best friend, and I don’t think we’ve had a non-work related conversation in a while.” Ed said, not managing to hide his downcast mood at the thought.

“You know how it is when you start dating someone, dear,” Isabella assured him, pressing his soft hand against his to give it a comforting squeeze. “It’s normal for you to pull away from some friends.”

“Yes,” Ed said, but he sounded dubious even to his own ears.

Isabella smiled, tucking a lock of blonde hair back from her face. “Well, I’ll be gone this weekend, so that should give you two time to catch up.”

Ed brightened, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. She was perfect.

* * *

Ed cradled the bottle of red wine in the crook of his arm as he unlocked the front door of the mansion. Isabella had left to visit her friends earlier that evening, leaving him with a free weekend for the first time in weeks. He had wanted to surprise Oswald with a nice dinner and a chance for them to catch up.

Oswald had seemed distracted all day, almost absentminded, which was most unlike him. Ed had tried to make conversation but hadn’t found time between his regular duties and rushing to have lunch with Isabella before she started her drive. By the time Ed had finished his work for the day, he had been informed by Oswald’s secretary that Oswald had already departed for the day.

It had been disconcerting to realize that he hadn’t noticed Oswald leave. It didn’t seem that long ago that they would leave City Hall together every day, enjoying the ride back to the mansion to enjoy the dinner Olga cooked before sharing a glass a wine in front of the fire. Ed vowed to be better about their friendship in the future—Oswald was the best friend Ed had ever had, and, as much as he loved Isabella, he didn’t want to lose what he had with Oswald.

Ed shook off the excess water from his umbrella as he stepped into the foyer, setting the bottle of wine down so he could remove his jacket. The mansion was as dark and quiet as Ed expected; Oswald only kept Olga on staff on a day-to-day basis. The rest of the staff, Ed aside, lived nearby—both on the grounds and off-grounds—where they would near enough if needed but far enough to guarantee privacy.

“Oswald?” Ed called out, hanging up his coat on the coat rack as he slid the umbrella into the penguin-shaped stand. The mansion seemed almost eerily empty, but then again, Ed had admittedly not been around lately. Had it always been this dark and cold?

Ed heard a noise coming from the living room and could see the soft orange glow of the fireplace casting long shadows into the hallway. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he presumed it was Oswald, perhaps playing a record as he sat by the fire while no doubt nursing a glass of wine or a tumbler of scotch. The turn to colder weather meant that his leg was likely giving him a problem, and the warmth of the fireplace was one of his more favored ways to ease the ache in the twisted tendons and muscles.

“Oswald?” Ed called again, wondering if perhaps the other man had fallen asleep in front of the fire again. It wasn’t that late in the evening, but it had been a busy week for the mayor, and Ed had caught him dozing on the couch more than once. It was ordinarily little harm, but the mansion was draftier than modern homes and without the fire being stoked, Oswald would wake up with a stiff leg and a potential cold.

The sight that greeted Ed wasn’t the one he had expected, though, and he didn’t know what he was seeing for the first few seconds. Ed saw a mass of bodies glowing orange and yellow from the light of the flickering fire, and his mind stalled to an embarrassingly quick stop.

Because the noise was nothing close to the soft crooning of a record that Ed had expected and instead was the only raunchy sounds of moans and gasps, the slide of skin against skin, and the salacious sounds of decidedly more intimate activities.

Ed managed to take in the sight of Oswald, naked and all smooth, pale skin, nestled in the lap of a strange man. And there was no doubt of what they were doing, not with the jerk of Oswald’s hips or the unmistakable upward rock of the man’s pelvis that gave Ed a decidedly clear view of their activities. If that wasn’t enough, he saw Oswald’s distinguish profile buried against another man’s groin, a large hand tangled into Oswald’s normally pristine hair as the man pressed himself into Oswald’s mouth. Oswald’s lips were stretched wide around him, and the room was filled with the muffled sound of moaning, the hitch of breaths, as the three made an explicitly pornographic image.

Ed must have made some sound, though he had no recollection of what sound because suddenly all three of them were scrambling apart. Ed barely had the brainpower to recognize the sharp redness of Oswald’s cheeks and the long expanse of skin and other...parts before he kicked himself into gear enough to stammer out an apology and turn his back, giving the three enough privacy to redress.

Ed was still stammering apologies to the wall, barely hearing the scramble for clothing and the low, unfamiliar cursing coming from Oswald.

“Ed!” Oswald said to Ed’s turned back, and Ed tried to hide his own burning red face as he heard the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled up. “What are you doing here?” he asked, breathless as though he had just run a marathon or—Ed cut off the thought.

“Um,” Ed stuttered out. “I, I mean, I—” live here, he almost wanted to say. “Isabella is gone for the weekend, and I thought we could have dinner. I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t aware that you’d—” Ed stumbled over the words. It wasn’t the first time he had...walked in on someone in an intimate embrace—he had spent four years living in the dorms at Gotham University—but for some reason, he had never pictured _Oswald_ in this situation. The man had always seemed so...untouchable, above such base desires, that he had honestly never considered the other man as a sexual being.

“You can turn around, Ed,” Oswald interrupted after a minute of Ed stumbling about, talking to the blank wall.

Ed tentatively turned back to face his friend, relieved when he was met with three fully dressed individuals. Ed swept his gaze over the two strangers—both clearly young and good looking, dressed in casual street clothing that did little to hide their muscular physiques. Even Oswald looked different—he was dressed more casually than Ed had ever seen him, and Ed had seen him in nothing more than borrowed pajamas and an oversized robe. But this was Oswald in jeans and a threadbare T-shirt that seemed more out of place than anything, with dark eye-makeup that was heavily smudged from his more recent...activities. Ed could feel the heat crawl up his face at the thought again.

“What are you doing here?” Oswald said, obviously trying to maintain his usual demeanor, but he was unable to hide the nervous slant of his shoulders or the mess of his hair. “I thought you’d be spending the weekend at Isabelle’s again.”

Ed wrung his hands. “Isabella,” he corrected absently. “She’s, uh, gone for the weekend, so I thought we could have dinner together. But, I, uh, didn’t know that you were going to have company.” He eyed the two men, both younger—younger than even Ed. He didn’t know how he felt about that—not sure how he was supposed to feel about any of it.

“Oh, yes,” Oswald said, glancing back at his...paramours. “I wasn’t expecting you and made alternative arrangements.” Oswald bit his lip, and Ed couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the movement, trace the same lips he had just seen, however briefly, wrapped around another man, and the thought made Ed burn bright red in embarrassment again.

“Ah, yes,” Ed said, and they lapsed into an uneasy silence. “I, um, I guess I’ll leave you to...it.”

Oswald raised a hand to stop Ed from retreating.

Ed stopped mid-step, unsure what else to do.

Oswald turned to his two partners. “Why don’t you two meet me upstairs?” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made something in Ed squirm and twist.

The two younger men shared and look and then nodded in almost unison. “Sure, babe,” the blond one said before closing the distance to press a kiss to Oswald’s lips. The leaner one, shorter with pitch-black hair, did the same before they let themselves out of the room, their footsteps disappearing as they climbed the stairs. It made something in Ed clench at the idea that they were comfortable enough in the mansion, that they knew the way to Oswald’s personal space, that Oswald trusted them enough to give them free rein without supervision.

The silence lingered between Ed and Oswald in the aftermath, both not able to meet the other’s eyes.

Ed was the one to break first. “I apologize, I should have..” he trailed off, unsure what he was going to say. Announced himself? “I wasn’t aware that you were…” he didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“Gay?” Oswald said, and there was an edge to his tone, a flatness that made Ed’s stomach clench.

Ed shook his head. “Seeing anyone,” he finally settled on. “Let alone, um…” His words faded, unsure how to process that Oswald was clearly involved with not one, but two young men.

“Yeah,” Oswald cut in, knowing what Ed was trying to say and, at the same time, not what he was trying to say. There was just something wrong about his posture, something wrong about seeing Oswald in faded denim and made up like some twenty-year-old punk.

The silence returned, and Ed cleared his throat. “I’ll just...be in my room if you need anything.”

Oswald nodded, slow. “Olga has the evening off, but she left dinner to be warmed up in the fridge if you are hungry.” Oswald bit his lip again, and Ed hated how unbearably awkward this was. They had killed a man together, cut the body into pieces, and spent months sharing every intimate thought with each other, and this was the first time Ed felt like he couldn’t talk to Oswald.

So, Ed dipped his head, unsure of what else to do. “Goodnight then, Oswald,” he said.

Oswald echoed the sentiment, and Ed steadfastly didn’t watch him limp up the stairs and disappear around the corner to undoubtedly join his two young lovers.

Ed unclenched his fist, only now noticing the sharp pinpoints of nails digging deep crescent into his palm, the pain almost numbing.

* * *

Oswald didn’t let Bran speak before he pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, crushing their lips together. He hid the shaking of his hand by fisting his dark hair, tugging harshly as he bit down on his bottom lip and pressed his tongue into the other man’s mouth with a stifled moan.

He needed this because if he didn’t find something to distract himself, then he’d think about the look on Ed’s face, the shame he felt when Ed, of all people, had to see him like this. He could feel the familiar burn in the corners of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to come.

Ed knew now. He had seen what a dirty slut Oswald was—had seen him spreading his legs for two men a decade his junior. And Oswald knew that Ed would never want him anyway, but he hadn’t ever wanted him to find out how used and dirty Oswald really was. He had liked his fantasy, the fantasy was Ed still looking at Oswald as though he was something worth having even if it would never be in the way he wanted.

“Whoa,” Aaron said, coming up from behind to press a few light kisses down his neck, hands resting on his hips. “Slow down, Oz,” he murmured into his ear. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

Oswald pulled back, eyes trained on the swollen, red lips on Bran and turned his head to nip at Aaron’s lips in turn. “I want you to wreck me tonight,” he said, tone hard and unyielding.

He backed Bran up until he could push him down onto his bed, crawling into his lap in a parody of their previous position. He stripped off his shirt carelessly before he fumbled at Bran’s zipper, feeling the hard outline of his cock growing under his ministrations.

He kicked off his pants, leaving himself naked as he pushed down Bran’s briefs to pull him out of his pants. He reached behind him to perfunctorily finger himself, still loose and with the remnants of lubricant from the earlier coupling.

Without fanfare, Oswald steadied himself to sink back down onto Bran, throwing his head back at the burn. It was still more pleasure than pain, and the sensation of being so full made his head spin. He shifted, lifting himself up on his knees before slamming his body down, riding the other man with a careless abandon.

He let Bran flip them over, arching up off the mattress and against the other man as he spread his legs wider. He watched through half-lidded eyes as his boys exchange open-mouthed kisses as Bran continued to fuck him.

“Let me have a turn,” Aaron said, kissing Bran behind the ears. “I haven’t had a chance to fuck him yet tonight.”

Oswald whined when Bran slid out of him, already missing the feeling of being stretched open on a cock. He sat up, wrapping his arms around Aaron’s shoulders as they kissed. When they parted, he wrapped his fingers around Aaron’s arousal, and it was like a throbbing pulse in his palm.

“I said that I wanted you to wreck me tonight,” he said, breathy but unimpressed. “Closet,” he directed to Bran, “the top shelf, black box.”

Bran returned shortly with the long flat box in question, setting it down next to the rutting couple with a question clear on his face. Oswald felt more than saw when the other man lifted the lid up to reveal its contents.

“Jesus,” Bran said, looking at the array of tools and toys that were laid out. His tone was incredulous enough that Aaron pulled away to take his own look.

“Damn, babe, quite the spread you have here,” Aaron said, with an impressed whistle before licking a long stripe along Oswald’s collarbone.

Oswald kept his face impassive as he looked into his box of toys that had been untouched in recent years. He bypassed some of the items, making a note of what items made his boys’ heart rates spike, and pulled out a pair of padded cuffs, the white leather still pristine and the black inner padding still soft. He handed them to Aaron even as he pulled out a large red dildo, larger than either of them by a not-insignificant margin, and gave it to Bran before closing the lid.

He met their eyes flatly. “I said I wanted you to wreck me tonight, didn’t I?” he said.

His boys shared a look, a familiar look of them deciding on something wordlessly, before Aaron pressed him back down onto the mattress, straddling his thighs to rut against Oswald’s stomach as they kissed. He spared a moment to work open the cuffs, looping the chain around a bedpost to force Oswald’s arms above his head.

“Not too tight?” Aaron asked, giving the chains a solid tug.

Oswald shook his head, arching up and silently begging for attention. The feeling, the knowledge, of him being tied down only made him harder, made him want to feel warm flesh against him.

“Can you snap for us, sweetheart?” Bran asked.

Oswald gave a quick snap of his fingers.

“Good boy,” Bran murmured. “If it’s too much and you can’t talk, I want you to snap for me, okay?”

They spent a few minutes making out, one of Aaron’s large hands pressing down on his wrists over the cuffs while another fondled Oswald’s leaking cock. Bran laid on his side, watching the two as he stroked himself, murmuring praises in Oswald’s ear.

“Flip him over,” Bran said into Aaron’s ear, biting on the rim playfully.

The two manhandled him onto his knees, and Oswald moaned into the mattress, pressing himself back to feel the hot edges of someone’s arousal press against his backside. He whined, pressing himself against the other man as he spread his legs wider, invitingly. He felt so empty, knew he was loose and sloppy and wet, and he wanted more.

“Shh,” he heard Bran murmur at him, one steady hand placed between his shoulder blades to keep him prostrated. “I know what you want, darling. You want something nice and big inside you, don’t you? Want something to stretch you open?”

Oswald nodded. He did—he wanted something more, something that would make him hurt and burn and feel so good and full. He kept his eyes closed as he focused on his breathing, the steady inhale and exhale of air.

Then he felt it, the cold press of something rigid against his ass, and he squeezed his eyes tight. He forced his body to relax at the first press of the toy him, forced himself to fight back a gasp at the way the head slowly worked its way into his body. It was big, definitely bigger than anything he had taken in a long time.

“Such a good boy. Look at how well you take it. This wasn’t even your biggest toy. Such a naughty slut,” Bran murmured, pressing the dildo in deeper before pausing, teasing it in and out in a way that set Oswald’s blood alight. “Why don’t you open that mouth and suck Aaron’s cock, darling.”

Oswald nodded, opening his mouth obediently. He barely noticed Aaron take his chin before he presses the leaking head of his cock again his lips. Oswald lapped eagerly at the tip, tasting the salty-sweet pre-come before opening his mouth wider to take him further in his mouth. He almost choked when he felt the dildo slip in deeper just as Aaron pressed down his throat, and it was so much, it made him feel so full.

“Dirty sluts like you need a good seeing to. You should see how good you look, baby, this ass spread open on a nice fat toy like this,” Bran said, running his hands up and down Oswald’s back and thighs, his touch soft and kind despite his words. “Do you like being pinned like this? Having a nice cock down your throat as I fuck your ass with a toy?”

Oswald nodded, careful not to choke himself. He could feel his eyes watering as his gag reflex threatened to return, and Aaron withdrew, giving Oswald a chance to take a large gasp of air before kissing him.

“So pretty,” Aaron said, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “So good for us. Are you a good boy, sweetheart?”

Oswald’s eyes fluttered shut, and he craned his neck, leaning into the man’s touch as he nodded. “Yes, I’m a good boy, your good boy.” He moaned loudly when he felt Bran press the toy further into him, feeling the rough scrape of the edges on his inside. “Please,” he said, unsure what he was asking for but desperate, so desperate.

Aaron slapped him gently on the cheek, not nearly hard enough for what Oswald wanted, but he moaned nonetheless. “Use your words, baby boy,” he cooed, peppering kisses down his neck, the trail of his tongue burning into Oswald’s skin.

“Please fuck me. Please, please, please,” Oswald begged, pushing himself back on the toy, straining against the restraints.

“Did you want us to come in you? Stuff you so full that you can feel us in the morning, our come dripping out of you?” Bran asked, and it was so dirty that it made Oswald moan and nod.

“Yes, please come inside. Please fuck me like a good slut, please, please, please,” Oswald said, tears building in the corner of his eyes as he writhed, trying to press himself closer.

Aaron moaned at the words. “Fuck, I need to be inside him.”

Bran must have agreed, because Oswald felt him pull out the toy and he felt so empty, felt gaping, and gasped when Bran slipped his thumbs inside him to hold him open. They moved him around easily until Aaron was poised behind him, pressing his long cock inside.

“Looks like our boy is a little loose and sloppy back here now,” he said as he pushed in, slow, and it made Oswald’s cock twitch. “Might have stretched him out a bit too much.”

Bran grabbed Oswald by the hair, directing his face down to slip his cock in his mouth.

Oswald struggled half-heartedly, opening his throat to let the man fuck his face. He groaned when he felt Aaron slide deeper into him, and he focused on the rough scrape of friction against his prostate and the feeling of a man down his throat.

“Do you like choking on my cock?” Bran said, controlling his movements while he gripped Oswald by his hair.

Oswald’s eyes watered, but he gave the man the best nod he could around the stretch of his lips.

He forced Oswald off with a rough tug, giving him a moment to gulp a lungful of air greedily. Bran slapped him on the cheek with his cock gently, making him release a breathy moan that was choked off by a particularly hard thrust from Aaron.

“Slut,” Bran said, slapping Oswald lightly on the cheek again. “Whore,” he said, but the term was now more affectionate than humiliating, tempered by the way Bran brushed his thumb gently against Oswald’s cheek in a way that made Oswald’s eyes flutter and lean in.

Aaron wrapped his fingers around Oswald’s leaking cock, and one, two, quick strokes, and Oswald was coming, fast and hard as he screamed into Bran’s shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a bruise.

Oswald felt boneless as he slumped against Bran’s shoulder. He felt his arms being released, and he was pushed onto his back. Aaron slid back into him, Oswald’s legs pressed against his chest and spread wide. He watched them both with half-lidded eyes, groaning as the pace picked up and whimpering at his oversensitive entrance.

He came back to himself slowly, drowsy, and watched as Bran stroked himself in time with Aaron’s thrust, finally coming over his face with a bitten back shout. Oswald murmured happily at the sensation, licking his lips contently as he tasted the bitter fluid.

“Fuck, baby,” Aaron said, picking up the pace. “You are so hot. So fucking hot, taking my cock so perfectly. You are perfect, you know that? So fucking perfect for us.”

Oswald moaned, nodding as he arched his back, wanting wanting wanting. He was so sensitive, but he wanted to make him feel good, wanted him to take pleasure in his body, he wanted to be good, so good.

Aaron leaned over to kiss Oswald, still murmuring praises against his lips as he emptied himself into Oswald.

Oswald whimpered as Aaron pulled out, feeling empty and the sensation of come dripping down his backside. He felt raw and light-headed. He barely noticed being cleaned with a warm wet cloth, only murmuring tiredly as his boys pulled him under the cover, sandwiching him between them.

He curled up against someone’s bare chest, falling asleep to the soft press of lips against his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _whistles innocently_ I hope you filthy animals enjoyed. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Because I definitely spent a long time editing this porn instead of working on other projects. 
> 
> Please take a moment to drop me a comment telling me what you thought! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Ed spent an uncomfortable night trying to ignore the knot in his chest. He had watched, strangely dissociated, with an odd rumbling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as Oswald had retreated up the steps and into his room to join his...paramours. He had absent-mindedly slipped the new bottle of wine down into the cellar before he warmed up some leftovers that he had picked half-heartedly at. He had planned to spend the rest of his evening reading in his room—the first time in perhaps months he had time to himself.

But he had miscalculated. His room was directly across from Oswald’s, and the walls weren't thick enough to completely muffle the sounds of their activities. He couldn't help but hear the low sounds of pleasure from across the hall, the muffled words just below the decibel range of what he could make out.

Ed barely slept that night, tossing in turning as he tried to pretend he couldn’t hear—both relieved and irrationally annoyed when the noise quieted.

He hadn’t—

He _didn’t_ —

He hadn’t thought of Oswald like that, as a creature of _physical_ desires. For some reason, he had never seen Oswald as a person who had relationships—

_Or is it relationships that didn’t involve you?_

* * *

Ed woke up to the early morning sun in his eyes.

Even without checking the time, he knew that he was awake earlier than usual, likely due to his uneasy night of sleep. He poked at the bags under his eyes with a slight frown, unsure why he was suddenly so concerned about them. He threw on his favorite robe, deciding to take advantage of the early start to make Oswald breakfast—perhaps palacsintas as it was one of the few ways to get Oswald to eat fresh fruit.

However, when he arrived at the kitchen, he found it already occupied.

“Oh,” the stranger said, visibly shocked. He was the shorter of the two men Ed had briefly caught a glimpse of the night before, slim with dark hair and dark eyes and a bone structure that pointed to someone of eastern Asian descent. He was dressed casually, draped in a dark purple robe that Ed recognized as one of Oswald's and a pair of black flannel pajama pants. He was in the middle of fixing a tray—already laid out with a tall glass of orange juice, a plate of sliced toast, and a pot of steeping tea.

The stove was still on, the sound of the natural gas burner and the speckling of hot oil sharp in space between them. Ed caught sight of a pan full of spluttering bacon and another with a large heaping pile of scrambled eggs. Even from this distance, Ed could see that they weren’t mixed enough—the whites still separated in clumps from the yolk. Ed frowned, glaring at the offending sub-par breakfast food.

“Good morning,” the stranger greeted, voice a little shaky and not quite meeting Ed's eyes as he stirred the eggs.

Ed forced himself to continue walking, schooling his face into something neutral. “Good morning,” he said, lips pressed into a thin line. “I wasn't expecting anyone to be up this early.” He hugged his robe a little closer, feeling vulnerable dressed in his pajamas with bare feet against the cold tile. The mansion had been a sanctuary, a bubble of space that Ed had found safe in the time after Arkham, and he felt like this man, this _stranger_ , was trespassing on it.

“Yes,” the man said, looking a little sheepish and offering a hesitant smile. “Aaron is an early riser and, uh, tends to wake us up. I'm Bran, by the way.” He set down the spatula to hold out his hand for a shake.

Ed didn’t take it, and it hovered between them awkwardly for a few seconds before Bran dropped it back to his side.

“You’re Nygma, right? Oz’s Chief of Staff?” Bran asked, filling the silence as he flipped the row of bacon over.

Ed grit his teeth. “Edward, yes. I'm also _Oswald's_ best friend.”

Bran only blinked, off-put perhaps by Ed’s tone. “Oh, well, it is nice to meet you. Sorry that I’m not dressed, but I didn't expect anyone around. Oz doesn’t usually have people over.”

“I live here.”

Bran gave a look of surprise that felt like a dagger in Ed’s stomach. “Oh, I'm surprised we haven't met sooner,” Bran said, starting to scoop the scrambled eggs onto a plate.

They were overcooked, Ed could see, and parts of it were clearly burnt. Oswald would have thrown it back into any cook’s face rather than eat it, likely before beating them with his cane. “I spend most nights at my girlfriend’s. Her apartment is closer to City Hall,” Ed said, not why he felt the need to explain himself. He did not need to defend himself to a _stranger_.

“Make sense,” Bran said, nodding. They lapsed back into an uncomfortable silence, no sound except for the scrape of metal against metal and the sizzling of oil.

Ed watched as the man arranged the plates onto the tray, grabbing a saltshaker while leaving the pepper grinder behind. Ed only spoke again when he watched the man—the _boy_ , really—start to cut a banana into a bowl. “Oswald doesn't like bananas,” he said.

Bran startled, obviously not expecting commentary. “Ah, yes. Well, he doesn't hate them, and Aaron loves them.” Bran shrugged. “And we’ve been trying to get him to eat more fruit.”

Ed bit back his immediate response, and watched, a silent sentry, as the man finally scurried out the kitchen with a tray laden with a mediocre, lumpy breakfast.

It was only once the footsteps faded that Ed remembered to breathe, forcing his closed fist open. He took a few deep breaths, finally making himself open up the fridge, pulling out the jug of milk. He stared at it, unblinking, before putting it back in.

He had lost his appetite.

* * *

Aaron loved kissing Oz. He could honestly spend hours pressed together and languishingly rolling their tongues and lips together. Case in point, Aaron was taking his time running his hands up and down Oz’s sides as they kissed, bodies covered in drying sweat and leftover semen. Bran had left who-knows-how-long-ago to make them breakfast, leaving the two in bed to entertain themselves—which usually meant napping or making out.

Or in this case…

“Really?” Oz said, pulling away to give Aaron an incredulous look.

Aaron grinned and shrugged, rutting his newly aroused erection against Oz’s thigh. He and Bran had already had him once this morning, their standard early morning quickie, but what could he say? He was a young, hot-blooded male who had been getting used to constant sex these last few months.

“You are just that hot, babe,” Aaron said, leaning in to kiss him again as he carded his fingers through his sleep mussed hair.

And Oz was hot. _Smoking_ hot. Aaron had thought so from that first night when he thought they were picking up a barely legal party animal, all angles and bright eyes. Finding out that not only was the man older than him—and those are some _damn_ fine genes there—but Mayor Cobblepot, who was rumored to still have mob connections?

 _Damn_ didn’t even begin to cover it

And Aaron knew by now that it was more than just a ‘connection.’ Bran had filled him in on who exactly Oswald Cobblepot was, and far from being deterred, it just made Aaron even more attractive to him. Knowing that he was bedding a mob boss a few times a week, a man who could and would kill them without losing any sleep, was heady. This was a man who had all of the power of the city in his palm, and he was letting Aaron fuck him on the regular, who cried so prettily when roughed up, who wanted them to be vulgar and crude to him.

And then who, in the aftermath, would be softer, needier, whimpering against their lips and taking food from their hands like a baby bird.

Aaron didn’t know how he could be any luckier.

He rolled them over so Oz was underneath him, continuing to rut gently against his skin as he drew his partner into a kiss.

Oz made a content sound in the back of his throat as they kissed, knees falling open so Aaron could fit between them with ease.

Aaron trailed one hand down between their bodies, pausing when he reached the man’s only semi-erect member. He pulled away from the kiss. “Want me to stop?” he asked, peppering a few more kisses down his neck. He could easily take care of himself if Oz wasn’t up for another round.

Oz shook his head. “No, keep going. I don’t think I can come again, but you can still fuck me.” He arched up as he spoke, rubbing a thigh against Aaron’s very interested arousal to demonstrate how much he _was_ enjoying this.

Aaron bit back a moan, nipping at Oz’s neck. “Bad boy,” he teased. He kneeled between his legs, pulling him closer by hooking his knees over his elbows. He sank one finger into the man, still loose and wet from their earlier playing. He knew Oz was too sensitive for him to press against his prostate but couldn’t help but scrape a nail gently over the rim, making him squirm.

Aaron slipped into his partner’s warm, tight body with a grunt, loving the way Oz opened up to him. He was also so tight, so good, and Aaron could spend days doing nothing but fucking him. He rocked his hips forward, managing to earn a mewl from Oz who looked up at him for mussed hair and half-lidded eyes—

“Shit,” he said, not able to stop himself from slamming back into the pliant body. He looked down at where they were joined together, eyes fixed on how Oz was stretched around him. It always looked so obscene, how good it looked with his cock pistoning in and out of him, his hole wet and shiny from come and lubricant alike.

Aaron thought about how he had woken up this morning to Oz’s mouth on him, at how he had let Bran fuck him on his hands and knees as he had mouthed messily at Aaron’s cock. He remembered how good he had looked afterward, come leaking out from his sloppy hole with streaks of semen caught on his cheek and hair and—

Aaron came with a shudder, quietly groaning into Oz's neck. He got a content murmur in response, spreading his legs lazily as Aaron continued to rut gently in and out of his body, riding the aftermath of his orgasm. He slipped out of the man with a little groan, falling onto his back with an exhale. He could feel the sweat and come cooling on him and reluctantly grabbed a clean corner of the sheet them both before relaxing back into the mattress.

Oz sighed and curled against him, settling his head into the crock of his arm with the full length of his naked body pressed up against Aaron’s side like a personal heater.

They lounged in silence, both drifting in and out of a shallow sleep. They both startled awake to the sound of the door opening and closing, Oz being the first to sit up. He pulled a sheet up to his waist in an endearing sense of modesty.

“Breakfast?” he asked, perking up at the thought of food, and Aaron thought he was the cutest in the morning, freshly fucked and not yet ready for the day. His hair was free from product, bedraggled from being pulled all night and morning, and hickies still uncovered trailing down his neck.

Bran shucked off his robe before he crawled onto the bed, carefully balancing the tray of food in his hands.

Aaron snagged the tall glass of orange juice, the most precarious up a lot, from the tray before it could tip over. He took a sip as Bran kissed Oz before swapping the glass with the shorter man to take a kiss himself.

“I made bacon and eggs, toast, and found a fruit salad in the fridge,” Bran said, setting the tray down so he could sit cross-legged. He pulled Oz onto his lap who, still drowsy, accepted the manhandling without complaint and buried his face into the man's neck.

“Wakey wakey,” Bran said in a sing-song voice. Aaron didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling down at Oz as he spoke.

Oz simply tried to snuggle deeper into Bran’s arms. “Dun wanna,” he said, petulant.

Bran laughed, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

Aaron poured a cup of black tea, mixing in a dollop of cream and one cube of sugar. He held it out for Bran to take.

“I brought tea,” Bran said, offering the enticement out to the man cuddled against him.

Aaron bit back a chuckle at how Oz perked up, raising his head to accept the cup. He wrinkled his nose after a sip, and Aaron laughed at the face. Oz reached over and dropped two more sugar cubes into it, stirring it briefly before taking a content sip.

Bran plucked a sliver of bacon and brought it up to Oswald’s lips for him to take a bite. They alternated bites while Aaron shoveled spoonfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth, eating in silence as their need for food took priority.

“Oh,” Bran said suddenly, as though remembering something. “I ran into Mr. Nygma this morning.” He offered a corner of buttered white toast to Oz, who had been slowly waking up more with each bite of food.

“Did you now?” Oz said after he chewed his bite, sounding bored.

Bran made a sound of agreement around his mouthful of bread. “It was a little embarrassing, honestly,” he admitted. “I didn't know you guys lived together. I’m just glad I got dressed before heading downstairs.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. That was new information. They spent the last four weeks at the manor without seeing another soul—not even the cook that Aaron knew existed only because of the fully stocked fridge. “Did he just move in?” he asked, curious.

Oswald ignored the question, instead taking another long sip of his tea.

Bran answered for him. “He said he usually stays with his girlfriend in town.”

“Makes sense,” Aaron said. But there was an odd tension and Oswald posture that made him pause. “Wait,” he said, putting together the pieces—Oz’s awkwardness and the way the man had reacted the evening before. “Did he not know? About us?”

Oz shifted almost imperiously in Bran’s lap. “It's not something I advertise,” he snapped. “For good reason, as you can imagine.”

Aaron furrowed his brows. “But isn't he, like, your Chief of Staff? Doesn't he—”

“Ed is not my keeper,” Oswald said, “and what I do with my time is my business, you understand?”

It was one of the rare moments like this that Aaron remembered that this man wasn't just Oz—their Oz who was soft and wild and fun—but also Penguin, a notorious mobster who could kill him with a snap of his fingers.

The three dropped into an awkward silence until Bran offered the orange juice to Oz, who shook his head. “I want some eggs,” he said, implicitly asking Bran to feed him a few bites, and the tension slowly melted away.

They spoke of inconsequential things as they cleared the tray, Aaron managing to convince Oz to eat a slice of banana in exchange for a kiss. The morning sun was bright by the time they finished, and they made their way to the shower.

All three of them weren't up for another round despite Aaron making a valiant effort. When Oz started getting dressed in another suit, he knew it was time to go.

“The driver is outside,” he told them unnecessarily as he did his makeup, swiping mascara over his lashes. “Apologies for cutting your visit short.”

Aaron exchanged a look with Bran, who gave a small nod in return. “No problem, babe,” Aaron said, with a smile he knew was boyishly charming. “We'll see you on Tuesday still, though?”

There was a pause and then a nod. “Usual time,” Oswald agreed, not looking away from the mirror.

Aaron gave him a long kiss goodbye, nipping playfully at his bottom lip in a move that he knew the man loved. “Don't work too hard, babe.” He winked cheesily, wanting to see the man smile again.

Oswald rolled his eyes but smiled, fond. “Shoo, you two,” he said. “And I’ll see you Tuesday.”

* * *

It wasn't until Oswald heard the familiar sounds of the car driving off that he allowed himself to crack. He had allowed himself to forget what happened the previous evening, pretend that nothing had changed, until Bran had mentioned Ed’s name.

His hands shook as he tried to put on his cufflinks, almost dropping the silver and sapphire accessory before he forced himself to breathe in slowly. He wished he could have kept the boys around, let them use him and make him forget.

But Oswald wasn't a coward.

He ventured out of his room carefully, the tapping of his cane against the hardwood floor almost deafening in the silence. He hobbled across the hall to knock on Ed’s bedroom door and receive no answer.

The thought struck him—that Ed had left him, hadn't even stayed the night, was so disgusted in Oswald that he couldn't stand to be in the same house as him for another minute.

Oswald stumbled to his office, heart pounding in his chest so loudly that he was light-headed. He managed to pour a heavy hand of scotch that he gulps down before fumbling to light a cigarette from the pack in the top drawer. It took him until the fourth long drag of nicotine that he got his heart rate under control, leaning against the cracked window still to stare outside. He kept his mind carefully blank, focusing on the burn of tobacco in his lungs.

“Oswald?”

Oswald managed not to jump. He took a deep breath and another drag before turning to plaster a mild smile on his face, the cigarette still held between two fingers and dripping ash carelessly on the floor.

“I thought I heard—” Ed cut himself off, eyes trained on the cigarette in Oswald's hand. “I didn't know you smoked.” His voice sounded uncharacteristic flat, and it made Oswald’s heart sink.

“Just an old habit, my friend,” he said with a shaky smile. He stubbed it out into his empty glass, the hiss of ash following. “Please, come in, my friend.”

Ed took a few steps in, his hands clasped behind his back. The distance between them seemed immeasurable.

“I hope you slept well?” Oswald asked, limping forward but not yet crossing the room.

“Yes, fine, thank you for asking.”

“It's been drafty lately. I should call the contractor to check the insulation.”

“I will research contractors for you to pick from.”

“Thank you, Ed.”

Was this how it would always be from now on? Would their relationship devolve into nothing but these stilted, painfully polite conversations? These mild and empty interactions Ed until he found an excuse to leave, taking with him what was left of Oswald’s heart—broken and burned as it was.

“About last night—”

“Oswald—”

They both started to speak at the same time, before stumbling to a halt.

Oswald forced a smile and a laugh, waving a hand to indicate that Ed should speak first.

“Oswald—” Ed started to say again, hands folded in front of him and lips pursed in a way that told Oswald all he needed to know about what he wanted to say.

Oswald held up a hand to stop him. He didn't know if his heart could take his disgust. “I understand. You don't need to say anything more.” He forced another smile and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. “I will, of course, provide any of the things you would like, including references—”

“What are you talking about?”

Was Ed going to make him say it? “Your resignation, of course,” Oswald forced out.

“You're firing me?” Ed said, sounding aghast.

“Of course not,” Oswald said, shocked that Ed would think otherwise. “I simply presumed that after last night you'd prefer to...seek alternative company and re-evaluate our friendship.” Oswald kept his eyes fixed on Ed’s tie, not wanting to focus on his best friend’s face and the way it would agree, nod and smile, and thank him for the courtesy.

Ed closed the distance between them, clasping both of Oswald's hands into his. His hands were warm. “What? No, never,” Ed said, shaking his head. “I said I do anything for you, Oswald, and your preference in partners doesn't change that. I was just..surprised. Unprepared.”

A weight suddenly lifted from Oswald, and he managed a sincere smile, shaky with emotion. “I am...relieved. I apologize for assuming.”

“You are forgiven,” Ed said.

And there was something more to the way he was looking at Oswald, an emotion shining through that made Oswald want to cry and scream at the same time.

“So, the young man I met this morning seemed...nice.”

Oswald cleared his throat, trying to suppress the blush that threatened to climb up his cheeks. “Yes, Brandon is quite the fine young gentleman.”

“And…the other one?”

Oswald tried not to duck his head. “Aaron. He's an engineering student.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. And then, “How did you meet?”

“Brandon's father brought him to the charity ball, and we hit it off. Aaron was a friend of his that I met later,” Oswald said, twisting the truths and lies together until they were neither. He wasn't ready for Ed to know the rest—wasn’t ready for him to see who Oswald really was underneath the veneer of suits and words.

“That ball was almost two months ago.”

“Yes.”

There was silence again, neither knowing what to say. “Do they make you happy?” Ed finally asked.

Not as happy as you would but—“yes,” Oswald said.

“I am happy for you then.”

And the words made Oswald's heart soar and break at the same time.

Ed finally took a step back, as though just realizing how close they were standing. He released Oswald’s hand. “I was considering taking a turn around the grounds—perhaps examine the greenhouse for potential repairs. The benefits of growing our own poisons can't be understated. Do you care to join me?”

Oswald smiled, falling in step behind him. “Let me grab my coat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Ed is jealous, and soft boyfriends are soft. 
> 
> A little smut and angst to make your day a little brighter! We are coming slowly to a close here—I had to redo my entire outline after I decided to go into a different direction so we'll see how soon I can get the next chapter out. Thank you to everyone for reading, and you can always follow me on [Tumblr](chierei.tumblr.com) if you want to chat, get sneak peeks, art updates, etc. 
> 
> As always, please take a moment to drop a comment with your thoughts! <3


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